


Bases Loaded

by saturnclexa (dontfallfornothing)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Sports, F/F, Physical Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Softball, Soulmates, abuse is not explicit and only occurs in ch 2, gotta love 'em, these two kids hurt my heart so much, will be rated M/E later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-10 13:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6987673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontfallfornothing/pseuds/saturnclexa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>HSAU in which Clarke and Lexa are juniors and both play competitive fast-pitch softball. Together, they've become known as an unstoppable pitcher and catcher duo. Lexa and Aden are in foster care together and it's not a good environment. After winning the semifinals of the state tournament, Lexa disappears from the team and the school. The system pulls her from her home and places her in another, this time away from Aden. Clarke is heartbroken, having finally been able to admit her feelings. She doesn't see her again until their travel teams meet in a tournament game a few weeks later and it appears that Lexa's found a new catcher to work with.</p><p>OR</p><p>HSAU with softball because I have WCWS feelings. Lexa pines for Clarke. Clarke thinks she betrayed her and is pissed. The sexual tension is real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You guys have one job this inning: don’t let them score,” Coach said as the team gathered around him, pulling on their gloves and sunglasses. It was the top of the 7th in the semifinals of the state tournament. “We’ve got last ups. We can end this then. Three outs, that’s all we need. Got it?”

The players nodded and kept their eyes locked on their coach, clinging onto each word like soldiers ready for war. Clarke knelt just outside the huddle as she strapped on the knee pads. 

Coach turned to the junior pitcher and tapped the bill of her visor. “Lexa, nothing too fancy, okay? We don’t need three strikeouts. We need three outs.”

“Don’t worry, Coach. We’ve got this,” Clarke said, standing and slipping the chest protector over her head. Lexa turned to her and nodded. She clenched her jaw and the sun caused a glare on her glasses, making her eyes impossible to see. “You know pressure doesn’t get to this one.”

Coach laughed and Lexa’s lips curved up into a smirk. Clarke glanced at her and winked as Coach turned his attention back to the team. “Go get them, Kru.” And without any fanfare or cheers, the team turned in unison and ran out to their positions. Clarke and Lexa walked together to the center of the infield.

“Who does he think he’s kidding?”Clarke muttered. Lexa glanced at her but the catcher was looking down as she adjusted the strings of her catcher’s mitt.

“What?” Her response was curt and her gaze was focused on the ground as she’s careful to step over the foul line. She didn’t want to do anything to mess with the Softball Gods now. Stepping on the line could’ve been the thing that loses them the game.

“Nothing too fancy--what does that even mean?” Clarke scoffed, shaking her head.

Clarkes attempt at lightening the mood made Lexa relax her face into a soft smile. She elbows Clarke in her chest protector, careful not to do more than nudge her. Clarke let out a low chuckle and the pitcher felt her heart squeeze at the sound.

“First batter, do a pirouette before each pitch. That’ll get his panties in a bunch,” Clarke said as they reached the chalk circle. She bent down to pick up the ball.

“That might give him a heart attack, Clarke. He already thinks my windup is over the top.”

“Over the top, my ass. You just like to bow to batters before whipping that fastball by them.”

“Don’t forget the change-up.”

“Please, I could never forget the change. That shit fools me and I’m the one calling for it.” Clarke held the ball up and waited for Lexa to open her glove. The motion was familiar to Lexa; it had become part of the ritual that starts every inning. They always walk out to the circle together, Clarke slams the ball into Lexa’s mitt and tells her to throw hard before trotting back behind the plate and settling in for the five warm-up pitches.

Just like the countless innings they’ve faced together leading up to this game, Lexa opened up her glove and held it out to the catcher. Clarke takes a moment to assess her pitcher. 

Lexa had one hand on her hip while her well-worn mitt hangs loosely off her other. Her hair was in a set of elaborate, impeccable braids, no different from any other game. The only evidence that she’d thrown close to 80 pitches was the few strands of hair that have come loose and haloed her face in dark brown wisps. One might be caught off guard by her beauty. It’d been known to happen to Clarke a few times--not that she’d ever admit it. It was hard to be intimidated by a face with such soft features. Clarke had slipped up and commented on her looks before, telling her that she was extraordinarily beautiful. Then she realized what she’d said, she stuttered to shift the focus. She told Lexa that it could be a good strategic move. She told Lexa that she could use this to her advantage, that her angelic beauty could be used to mislead batters into thinking she’d be easy to hit. But Lexa dismissed the idea, shrugging Clarke off as if the comment hadn’t caught her off guard. In reality, Clarke’s words had floated around her mind, repeating themselves like a broken record for days. 

But ever since that comment freshman year, she had paid close attention to her appearance when she was due to pitch. While she wanted to be beautiful in Clarke’s eyes, she didn’t want any opponent to judge her based on looks, even if it did give her the upper hand. In an effort to offset the attention paid to her looks and shift it to her abilities, she always donned eyeblack that she smudged down her cheeks in streaks. Upon delivering her first pitch, Lexa always managed to remind people that her looks aren’t everything. A 62 mph fastball has that effect on people. 

Though she couldn’t see it in the moment, Clarke knew the look hiding behind the sunglasses and streaks of black on her cheeks. She knew Lexa’s chest was shaking with each exhale. Even in games where they’re winning by ten runs, Lexa is nervous. She likes to call it intensity, focus. But Clarke sees it for what it really is--uncertainty and anxiety. Being a pitcher, all eyes are on her at all times. And while she performs well under this pressure, it gets to her sometimes. She doesn’t show it though. She keeps that part of her in a different place from the part of her that faces each batter--the separation between head and heart, the church and state of softball. 

Without moving her gaze from the glasses that shield Lexa’s green eyes, Clarke pressed the ball into the glove. Usually it’s a fast motion but this time, she paused and kept her hand on the ball.

“Throw hard,” Clarke said, her face hardening with seriousness. She lets her eyes soften for a moment, letting Lexa see her own vulnerability. 

“If there’s a pop up, I expect you to embrace your inner Dottie Henson and go into a split to catch it,” Lexa said with a crooked smile. It’s the first in-game glimpse Clarke has seen of the girl that comes out off the field. The smile lit up her face and Clarke felt a familiar tingle in the pit of stomach. Lexa’s beauty caught her off guard, yet again. 

After swallowing the urge to make a comment about her flexibility, Clarke flashed a smile back at the pitcher and jogged back behind the plate.

“Hey blue, how about we make this a quick one?” she said to the umpire as she pulled on her mask. As soon as she settled into her squat, Lexa stepped up to the rubber and rocked into her motion. Clarke shifted forward onto the balls of her feet and held her glove out to provide the target. Where Clarke’s movements were firm and strong, Lexa’s appear more like a dance. The slow, graceful movements didn’t match the fierce look on her face that, coupled with the impenetrable sunglasses and striking black makeup streaking down her face, screamed of speed and power. Both hands metin front of her, arms stretching out and following her body as she bent over. The weight on her feet shifting with her movements, letting her body create and flow with the rhythm of the pitch. Despite her constant and steady movements, her eyes never left Clarke’s mitt behind the plate. The muscles in her arms rippled and the razor-back of her deep red uniform framed her shoulder blades to show just a hint of the strength held there. Just before her hands brushed against the dirt, she brought them into her chest as she straightened up with her head still pointed at the ground and rocked backward, picking up momentum to throw behind the pitch. She pushed her hands out once more and launched into the windmill motion. Her right arm was a blur as her left arm and foot extended forward. The ball is a flash of yellow as she moved. 

She snapped her wrist as she released and the ball zipped towards the plate. It landed in Clarke’s glove with a loud pop. She groaned at the impact. That’s at least 65, she thought as she tossed it back to Lexa from her squat. And I didn’t have to move my glove a millimeter.

“Just like that!” She called.

Lexa waved her glove at Clarke, signalling that she didn’t need anymore warm up pitches. 

Clarke nodded and turned to the umpire. “We’re ready, blue.”

“Balls in!” he called as he nodded to the batter taking warm up swings outside the batter’s box.

“Balls in! Coming down!” Clarke shifted her squat to be more on her toes, readying herself to jump to her feet quickly. As soon as her feet were set, the ball came flying at her again. She hopped s up and out of her squat a second before the ball lands in her glove, getting as much of a head start on the invisible runner as possible. She planted her feet and fired the ball back towards Lexa, trusting her to get out of the way. Lexa is already down into a crouch as the ball flew right through where her head was moments before and landed in the Octavia’s waiting glove at second base. Octavia applied the tag to the imaginary runner. The infielders shot the ball around the horn and joined Lexa and Clarke in the circle. 

Lexa turned to each of them and gave them high fives, nodding at their words of encouragement and support. They each turned and trot back to their positions, drawing lines in the dirt to mark where they should stand--a habit that no one lost since tee-ball. Octavia hung back and waited for the rest to dissipate, keeping an eye on Clarke as Lexa turned to her. Clarke gave her a high five. There were words on her lips, words that echoed everyone else’s. She didn’t have to say them--Lexa’s heard them hundreds of times before. For some reason that Clarke couldn’t pinpoint at the time, she wanted to be the one to say them to Lexa. But Octavia’s gaze felt like a hand pressing against her. So she swallowed her words again and offered her pitcher a simple nod instead.

“So what do ya say, Cap?” Octavia said with a grin.

“Octavia, I’m not a captain.”

“Not yet, but after this year you will be.” she paused and nudged Lexa with her elbow. “You and your Griffin back there.”

“She’s not my Griffin,” Lexa said with a huff. She was glad for the eyeblack covering her cheeks as she could feel the heat rising to them at the thought of Clarke being hers.. To be around Clarke was one thing. To be able to work so closely with her was another thing--for her talent behind the plate, of course. But the mere thought--it was more than enough to make her heart pound. . 

“No, but she’s your catcher. And that’s as close as we get to marriage around here.”

“Next you’re going to be telling me that I won’t need a ring because we’re already standing on a diamond,” Lexa laughed. 

“Now you’re talking.” Octavia laughed and shuffled backwards, satisfied with the now light air around Lexa. They all needed the stiff and methodical pitcher to allow some of the pressure to roll of her shoulders and onto the seven fielders behind her. 

The light banter with Octavia helped her feel looser but the heart continued to thud against her chest. More adept at handling the weight of an important inning, Lexa told herself she it pounding from anticipation rather than the feeling of Clarke’s heady stare. 

“Batter up!” the umpire called, narrowing his gaze at the girls in the circle.

“Yeah, quit your chit chat, ladies!” Clarke yelled. Octavia waves her glove at Clarke to get her to shut up.

“You got this, Woods.”

The first batter got ahead in the count at 2 balls and 1 strike before hitting a dinky ground ball right at the third baseman. Jasmine scooped it up and lobbed it to Anya at first as if it’s nothing. The throw beat the runner by a step. Lexa rolled her eyes at the third baseman’s cockiness. Careless plays like that end up losing games like this. Top of the seventh inning in the semi-finals of the state tournament and she’s throwing the ball like she’s playing catch in the backyard. Now is not the time to turn down the intensity.

“Come on, Kel! What kind of throw was that?” Clarke yelled.

“Griffin, I’ll handle the yelling!” Coach yelled at Clarke. She waved him off and dropped back into her squat. “Kel! If I see you throw like that again in a game like this, you’re going to be running for all of preseason!”

Clarke barked out a laugh and shook her head. She glanced at the batter stepping into the box and remembered the last at-bat. They caught her looking at an off-speed pitch for a called third strike. Clarke smiled and put her hand between her legs to give Lexa the sign for an inside fastball. She knew the girl would be tense from her last at-bat, the desire to make contact blurring her judgment of good pitches. 

Lexa launched into her motion without pausing to show Clarke her agreement. She knew what sign was coming from the moment the batter came up. Just like they knew it would, the batter swung at the first pitch. She wasn’t able to pull her hands in fast enough once she realized the placement and so it thunked off the inside of the bat and shot towards the home dugout and hit the fence. 

Next pitch: rise ball, up and away. Swing and a miss. No balls, two strikes. Lexa could feel her heart speeding up with excitement and anticipation actually for the game this time. Clarke flashed her a smile from underneath the catcher’s mask and Lexa hadto contain her automatic reflex to return it. This is a serious moment. No time for smiles or celebrations yet. Clarke gave her the sign for the next pitch and it was exactly what Lexa is expecting: change up.

The pitch speed was a good fifteen mph slower than her fastball, making the batter shift her weight too early. Her weight was forward as she did her best to keep her bat back long enough to make contact. But her momentum carried her forward before the ball crossed the plate. Swing and a miss. Strike three.

Clarke’s throwing hand closed into a fist and she pumped it once. Lexa allowed herself a quick smile at the blonde’s excitement. One out away.

But close games could never finish that easily. The next batter had been watching carefully and clearly knew which pitches Lexa was going to throw. She kept the bat on her shoulder, watching four pitches go by. The first two were outside the strikezone, hoping to make her chase for something that would result in poor contact. The infielders chattered behind Lexa, telling her that the pitches “looked good” and to “shake it off.” The third pitch swiped the lower outside corner and she took it for a strike. Clarke called for a curve, hoping to trick the batter into swinging before the pitch tails away out of the zone. But her plan failed and the batter didn’t even look tempted to swing.

Clarke called for time and dropped the mask behind the plate. She ran the ball back to Lexa rather than throwing it. 

“Get back behind the plate, Clarke,” the pitcher said through gritted teeth. She didn’t want Clarke’s concern. She didn’t want the coaches and college scouts watching to doubt her. A catcher’s concern told them that there was a lack of communication and gave everyone reason to worry. And they shouldn’t. Lexa had it handled. She wasn’t at all worried.

Clarke rolled her eyes and held the ball out to Lexa. “Just you and me playin’ catch, babe,” she says.

Lexa’s heart jumped at “babe.” She swallowed hard and took the ball from the catcher without a word. Clarke turned and ran back to the plate. Lexa stood behind the rubber, snapping the ball into her mitt while she waited for Clarke to get settled. Clarke gave her a sign that she shook off. Another and again a no from the pitcher. A third--still no. Clarke huffed and gave her the sign for a fastball. Lexa nodded once and went into her motion.

This pitch wasn’t messing around. It was down the center of the plate and low. But it was one of the hardest and fastest pitches she’d thrown all game. One of the scout’s radar gun read 68 mph, the same speed Jennie Fitch was clocking at that age. The batter couldn’t lay off this one--it’s perfect. She swung and made contact. The ball was hit high but not as far as the batter needed. The left fielder took a few steps and caught the ball easily. Third out.

Octavia whooped and ran at Lexa, pounding her on the back with her glove as they all headed toward the dugout.

“We’re not done yet, ladies,” coach said. “We’re playing small game now. We have three outs to get this done. I don’t want you going back into the field. Blake, you’re up first.”

“Way ahead of you, coach!” Octavia shouted as she secured her helmet over her elaborate braid. Her batting gloves were already on and her bat was under her arm. She joined the huddle for a cheer and as coach headed out to the third base line, she said, “I’ll see you ladies back here in a few minutes after I win this game.” 

“Stop trying to steal all the glory, Octavia,” Anya said as she pulled her own gloves on. “You’re gonna need someone to hit you in. Last time you hit a homerun was in 10u.” The team bursted out in laughter at the dig. Octavia flipped them off before walking out to the batter’s box as the catcher threw the ball to second.

Clarke was chuckling to herself at the girl’s antics as she squatted next to the bats and took off her knee pads. She didn’t hear Lexa approach until she spoke.

“Isn’t that a little presumptuous?” she asked from behind Clarke.

“What?” Clarke asked . She looked up and watched Octavia take the first pitch for a ball. “Come on, O!”

“Taking off the pads. You’re up fourth. Could be a 1-2-3 inning. You’re going to jinx it.”

“You’re too gullible with all those superstitions, Lexa. Relax a little,” she shook her head and stood up.

“I’m completely relaxed.” But her actions proved otherwise as she adjusted the lineup of bats to make sure they weren’t crossing. Crossed bats were another opportunity for them to lose the game. 

“Don’t be too sure about that.” Clarke reached over to the array of bats. She grabbed one and nudged another so that it’s slightly out of line. Holding onto the other, she took a few steps away to take a few practice cuts. Lexa turned to look at her her with narrowed eyes to find Clarke looking at her with a grin that lit up her whole face. 

“At least I don’t freak out if a speck of dirt is on the plate,” she fired back. She turned to face Clarke completely, angling her body between the catcher and the bats so she can adjust them behind her back without Clarke seeing. 

“The umpire can’t call the play right if he can’t see the plate,” Clarke replied as if it’s completely logical. The smile faded from her face and she fixed Lexa with a look that shows her just how serious she is. 

Lexa opened her mouth to reply and tell Clarke that a little bit of dirt doesn’t cover the whole plate. But Clarke’s eyes have moved from Lexa’s face to over her shoulder, her mouth spreading into a wide smile. Lexa turned to follow her stare. She turned just in time to see Octavia swinging at a pitch. “Yes O!” Clarke screamed, running up against the fence and shaking it, causing the bats to move again. Lexa stepped closer to the fence and watched Octavia make contact. The ball shot off the bat and over the shortstop’s head. A solid single.

“Looks like you didn’t jinx us after all,” Lexa said.

“Yeah, looks like your superstitions are baseless.”

“The bats were straight when she hit the ball, Clarke. That’s no coincidence.”

Clarke barked out a laugh but didn’t reply. 

When Anya stepped s up to the plate, Clarke watched her take the signs from Coach. Bunt and run. Anya had to get it down or risk Octavia getting thrown out despite her speed. Anya nodded at Coach and stepped into the box. Octavia narrowed her eyes at the pitcher and adjusted her feet to get ready to take her jump. 

As soon as the pitcher’s arm was above her head in her wind-up, Octavia starts moving. Her timing was perfect, her left foot leaving the bag the moment the ball left the pitcher’s hand. Anya squared around for the bunt. The corner infielders charged in, ready to field the bunt. 

The fastball slowed the moment it made contact with Anya’s bat, dropping to the ground and rolling a few feet before falling dead just down the first base line. Anya dropped the bat in front of the plate and took off. The bench erupted in cheers of excitement. 

The throw beat her by a step but Octavia’s had already reached second and was clearly thinking about third. She’s five feet from the bag when the throw came in. She dove back, laying herself out so her fingertips reached the bag just before the tag. The umpire called safe. Octavia asked for time time and stood. She didn’t bother to brush the dirt off her chest and Clarke shook her head, knowing that she likes wearing it as a badge of honor. She pointed at Anya and blew her a kiss. Anya laughed and jogged back to the dugout. The team crowded around and she collected their highfives as she set down her helmet.

“Nice bunt, A,” Lexa said as Anya moves to stand next to her. The senior responded with a crooked smile. Lexa smiled back. She’d always admired the older girl. There’s something about the way she holds herself in the game that Lexa found inspiring. Her movements were always careful and precise. Her throws were always on target. And she’s the best bunter Lexa had ever seen.

“Maybe I’ll teach you sometime.” Anya nudged Lexa playfully. On Lexa’s other side, Clarke snorted.

“Please, she needs more help hitting it out of the infield than keeping it in.” She slid her helmet over her messy bun. 

“Not everyone is a power hitter, Clarke,” Lexa said slowly, not looking away as the next batter stepped s up. Anya chuckled and turned to walk away. She didn’t try to get between the interesting dynamic the pitcher and catcher have. It wasn’t not one that she could ever understand. Their partnership on the field always turned to a brand of teasing that no one else on the team quite followed. 

“No, but you must get sick of hitting singles all the time.” Clarke paused to take a practice swing. Lexa turned and took a step closer.

“You may lead the team in RBIs but my on-base percentage is double yours.”

“Yeah, on the field, it is,” Clarke smirked. Lexa’s eyebrow quirked up and her face flushed with emotion but it’s hidden behind the eye black and gone before Clarke can place it. Lexa was brought back to three months ago.

They were in a poorly remodeled factory with five nets set up next to each other for pitching lanes and batting cages. Clarke stuffed her gear into her bag. Lexa stood next to her, guzzling a water bottle without a word. They were both covered with a sheen of sweat and their shirts hung loosely off their bodies from the workout. It was the last private pitching lesson before the start of preseason for the high school team and Lexa’s pitching coach has just given them a water break.

“Good work, Woods,” Clarke said. Lexa grunted around her water bottle. Clarke struggled with the zipper on her bag. It’s too full with her two sets of catching equipment and extra t-shirts and sweatshirts that she’d shed during practices and never taken out. She groaned as she pulls on the zipper but it doesn’t budge. She sighed and ripped it back open. She dug through the mess and started throwing empty water bottles behind her.

“Jesus, Clarke. When are those from?”

“Fall ball? Last season? 14u? I don’t know.”

“Do you ever clean out your bag?” She sounded disgusted.

“That’s what I’m doing right now.” Clarke sounded like she’s bored of the conversation already. Lexa shook her head with a small smile and picked up the water bottles as they come flying out of Clarke’s hands. Her arms were full when the deluge finally stopped and Clarke was able to pull the zipper shut with a little less difficulty. The bag was still bulging but it’s clear that that’s as good as it was going to get. 

Lexa dumped the bottles into the garbage can as her pitching coach comes back from putting away the weighted balls. 

“You ready to try that rise ball again?” Dave asked.

“Wait, we’re not done? I just got my bag to close!” Clarke said.

“I definitely said ‘water break’ and not ‘go home,’ Clarke,” Dave retorted. Lexa put her glove back on and ran a hand along her braid to make sure there are not flyaways.

“Listen, I don’t have to be here. I’m doing this out of the goodness of my--”

“Get your gear on, Princess.”

Clarke sighed and moved to do as she was told. Dave led Lexa to the pitching rubber in the first lane. He went over some of the fine points of the pitch for the hundredth time. He asked Lexa to show him how to grip the ball. She lined her fingers up and holds it out for him to check. He nodded and glanced over at Clarke. She pulled the chest protector over her head and grabbed her mask and glove. 

“Alright, remember it’s only useful if it’s above 60 mph with a fast backspin. Anything less is a fastball that will be right in the batter’s wheelhouse.”

Clarke set up and Lexa delivered the first pitch. She knew the second it left her fingers that it was wrong.

“The stitches need to dig into the air. That’s how it’ll overcome gravity and rise higher than a fastball. Come on, Woods.”

She threw another.

“Better. More.”

“Just you and me, babe. Having a catch,” Clarke called out. 

Lexa took a deep breath and tightened her grip. This time when she released, she flicked her wrist harder. It flew towards the plate, rising steadily. It looked like a fastball until right before it hit the plate and it rose at a sharper angle, leaving the strike zone entirely. Clarke shot her glove up to grab it. Even she hadn’t been expecting it to rise that way. Lexa let out a sigh of relief and allowed herself a small smile.

“Yes!” Clarke shouts, tossing the ball right back.

“Good. Keep going.” Dave doesn’t show the excitement that the girls do. But his lack of words are enough to tell Lexa that she’s doing well.

She keeps throwing, leaving no time to pause between pitches. Fifteen minutes later, she’s breathing heavily and covered with even more sweat than before. Her shirt feels like it’s stretched to gain another size but she hasn’t slipped up again. Each time the ball zipped just above the strike zone to a place where, if hit, the ball could go nowhere but straight up.

“That’s enough. Go grab some water.”

“Water or are we done?” Clarke asked. 

“You’re done,” Dave said. “But don’t go anywhere. I want to talk to you first.”

The girls nodded and walked back over to their bags. Clarke dug around again and pulled out a water bottle that had been opened God knows when. Lexa eyed it out of the corner of her eye and Clarke notices.

“It’s only like a week old tops,” Clarke said, shrugging and opening it. Lexa shook her head and reached into her own bag. She pulled out two unopened bottles and tossed one at Clarke without warning. She caught it with no trouble. “Thanks.”

Lexa rolled her eyes. Clarke opened her mouth to say more but Dave walked over. Lexa reached into her bag and pulled out a crumpled wad of bills. She smoothed them out as best as she could and hands them to Dave.

“Great practice today. That rise ball is looking good. I think you’re ready to use it in a game,” he said. Clarke turns to Lexa in time to see her eyes widen and her jaw drop. Clarke beams, keeping her eyes trained on the pitcher.

“Really? You’re sure?” Lexa said. Clarke shook her head, knowing that Lexa hasn’t the slightest clue how good she really is. Her disbelief is written all over her face. 

“Yeah, your technique is excellent. Your form doesn’t falter. And that backspin is strong enough to fool D1 batters.”

Lexa still looked dubious but nodded slowly in agreement. Clarke grinned beside her.

“Call me if you want any sessions during the season.” He clapped a hand on Lexa’s shoulder, nodded at Clarke, and turned towards the open factory door.

Lexa didn’t move or speak. Clarke smiled to herself and squatted down to take off her gear. Lexa didn’t move until she heard the door downstairs slam closed behind him.

“You in there, Woods?” Clarke asked. Lexa nodded in response, slowly snapping out of her shock. “You don’t see it, do you?”

“Hmm?” Lexa asked as her eyes focused again.

“You’re good, Lexa.”

Lexa looks up at Clarke’s use of her first name, blue and green locking. Usually she only hears her say “Woods.” 

“I--I didn’t think I--” Lexa stumbled through her words. Clarke cut her off with a laugh. “What?” 

Clarke shook her head.

“Softball is my life, Clarke,” Lexa said. Clarke’s face softened and she nodded in understanding. It was her life too. If it wasn’t, she wouldn’t commit so many hours to practicing. But Clarke didn’t see what Lexa was really trying to say--that softball was her entire life, that she had nothing else. Lexa hadn’t ever expected to reveal that to anyone before, but here she was. “This sport is everything to me.” She swallowed, stuck trying to find the words that will communicate what she means without causing Clarke to judge her--or worse, pity her. 

“I know, Lex. It’s my life too,” Clarke replied. She took a step closer. “But if it’s so important to you, you deserve to know how good you are.”

Lexa’s eyes roamed her face.

“I don’t know any other pitcher who has five pitches. And you’ve just added a sixth! That’s huge. And you should be proud of that.”

“I couldn’t have done it without a good catcher.”

Clarke laughed as she zipped her bag shut. “Yeah, you could have.”

 

“You caught all my wild pitches,” she said. 

Lexa’s eyes shifted between Clarke’s eyes and lips. She swallowed. Clarke was oblivious. Lexa was confused. She took another step forward as Clarke stood. Clarke was saying something but Lexa could only see her mouth moving. Clarke’s lips were turned up at the corners with a smile, a cocky one. She was joking, Lexa could tell that much. But her words fell on deaf ears. Lexa was leaning forward without making the decision to. Clarke’s neck glistened with sweat in the strong fluorescent lighting. Her eyes were sparkling like they always did. Normally those details would have caught Lexa’s attention but in this moment, she was blind to anything but the lips forming words that she couldn’t hear. 

Lexa kept leaning forward and when she was inches from Clarke’s face, Clarke caught on. Her eyebrows rose in surprise just as Lexa touched her lips to Clarke’s. Clarke’s eyes fluttered closed and she fell into the kiss. It was soft and warm. They could feel the sweat on each other’s noses as their lips moved together. Heat radiated off of both of them. Lexa pulled back slightly, tilting her head the other way to move in for another kiss. 

The moment their lips separated, Clarke mind was overwhelmed with everything. Her eyes were still closed and she saw Finn kissing that other girl. She saw his hips holding the girl up against the wall with her legs wrapped around him. She saw the girl gasp as he kissed her neck. She saw the girl’s eyes open and grin menacingly at her. 

As Lexa was moving back in, Clarke swallowed and took a step back just as she had done when she saw Finn with that girl. She opened her eyes slowly.

“I, uh, I’m not ready,” she said. “Not yet.”

Lexa didn’t know what had happened, didn’t know why she wasn’t ready. Not many people knew. She’d broken up with Finn a few weeks prior but kept the secret of his betrayal quiet. Octavia knew. She had guessed it but Clarke didn’t say anything about it to anyone--not even Finn. She hadn’t called him out or humiliated him the way the fire in her stomach begged her to. She took a small argument they had over weekend plans and let it build until it blew. It was the easiest way to end it. And in the ruins of the relationship, she’d funneled all of her energy into practice as a way of coping with the pain she felt.

The moment she felt Clarke move away, Lexa stepped back and looked at her. She searched her eyes for a clue as to whether her words were true or just there to lessen the blow of rejection. The blue eyes that were normally bright had darkened with a sadness. She could normally dive into those eyes and get a feel for how Clarke was feeling. But beside sadness, her eyes revealed nothing. They put up a wall that Lexa could not breach. She pressed her lips together, wondering how long the feeling of the kiss would remain there, and nodded. 

They stood and looked at each other for a long moment before Lexa nodded again and broke the trance they were both in. 

“I’ll see you at tryouts tomorrow,” Lexa said, picking up her bag. Clarke nodded in response but Lexa had already turned to the door. Clarke picked up her bag and followed her out without a word. 

Lexa slipped the strap of her bag over her head and started her walk back to the house. She listened to Clarke get into her truck and start it up. She gave her a wave as she drove by. As soon as the truck was out of sight, Lexa stopped. She closed her eyes tight and tilted her head up to the sky. She took a deep breath and swallowed. Once her body didn’t feel like it was going to shake right out of her skin, she continued her walk.

As Lexa looked at Clarke, she saw clearly that Clarke had been brought back to their kiss too. The look of recognition on both of their faces was the most they’d done to acknowledge it since it happened. 

They hadn’t talked about the kiss or the words following. There was never a chance for awkwardness or resentment as the season started the very next day. They were paired up and told to start warming up together the moment they’d arrived. Lexa had spent the two hours pitching to the girls trying out while Coach tried to gauge their hitting abilities. And after that, Lexa just wanted to get down to business for the season. Clarke didn’t have the nerve or heart to reopen the conversation. 

It wasn’t for a lack of desire. Oh, the desire was there. But so many other things were there as well. They were business partners on the field. And there was Finn. Clarke didn’t want to get into something that she couldn’t put her whole heart into. And in that moment, the only thing she had capacity for her in heart was softball. So she’d poured all of that energy and fondness into their partnership on the field. She joked with Lexa and supported her through tough innings. And for awhile, that was enough. 

It was enough until this moment. As Clarke stood there, having just told Lexa that she had no romantic game, she realized that Lexa did. That Lexa had captivated her completely. She hadn’t thought about Finn in a while, longer than she’d gone since before she’d met him.

Clarke opened her mouth to say something, to cover the awkwardness up with another joke but she lost Lexa’s attention as the sound of a ball hitting a bat rang out. Lexa spun , eyes wide, to see what was happening on the field. The third batter of the inning, Reese, had hit a ground ball to the pitcher. It wasn’t not hard enough to advance Octavia another 60 feet. And she wasn’t even halfway down the baseline when the throw reached first base. Two outs.

Clarke’s eyes didn’t leave Lexa. She didn’t watch the ball or the runner or Octavia. She just continued looking at Lexa’s back, watching the muscles tense and ripple under her jersey as the pitcher reacted subtly to the play. The strength in her shoulders and back was evident even through the polyester fabric. Clarke’s mouth dried at the sight. 

“Yo, Griff! You’re up!” a voice shouted and pulled her from her reverie. She tightened her grip on her bat and headed toward the plate for her at-bat. She felt a hand tap her shoulder and knew it was Lexa. She turned and tried to catch her eye but Lexa’s gaze was focused on the pitcher’s hands. 

“First pitch drop,” she whispered. 

Clarke nodded and clenched her teeth. She walked out to the plate and put her left foot in the batter’s box before glancing down at Coach. He clapped his hands together and gestured to Octavia who adjusting her feet on second. It was clear what he was saying. She didn’t need words or signs. This is her job. She hits in runs. She cleans the bases. 

She sighed and began her pre-pitch ritual. She tapped the plate twice with the head of the bat and dug her left foot into the dirt. First pitch drop. Lexa’s words echoed through her head. At the memory of her voice, she felt a gentle tingle on her lips. She rubbed them together to suppress the feeling.

Lexa chewed her lip and held onto the fence with a grip so tight that her knuckles whitened.

“Tense, Woods?” Anya teased as she came to stand next to her. 

“The more at-bats they get the bigger chance they’ll get a run.”

Anya raised an eyebrow at the pitcher. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it again. She knew Lexa has a point. Neither of them wanted to have to go back into the field.

The catcher set up and Clarke eased the bat off her shoulders, wiggling her fingers to keep her hands loose. The pitcher started her wind-up and Clarke shifted her weight to her left foot, loading up the power she wanted to push behind the ball. Clarke had already decided to swing before it leaves her hand. She prayed that Lexa was right.

She lifted her foot and started her swing. Lexa was right. It was a drop ball. She connected and sent the ball shooting back through the hole between the second and first basemen. Clarke took off and for a moment, forgets about the score and the situation. She saw the right fielder scoop up the ball and fire home. The second the ball crossed her path, she took off for second, trying to advance herself as much as possible for the next batter. 

Octavia fell into a graceful hook slide. She slipped around the catcher and past home plate, reaching her hand out at the last second to swipe the plate.

Clarke hadn’t reached second when the infielders heads drooped in defeat. They began their slow walk off the field as Clarke dropped into a quick slide to slow her momentum going into second. She popped up and looked around. She sawa large flash of deep red and realized that the team has streamed out of the dugout and ran to home plate. Octavia didn’t stop to celebrate them after scoring. She bounced up, threw her helmet off and charged towards second base. Right behind her was Lexa. If Octavia wasn’t the fastest runner on the team, Lexa would’ve reach Clarke first. 

The team rushed towards her and she doesn’t have time to take her own helmet off before they’re around her and on top of her. They’re jumping and screaming and falling all over each other with joy. Hands grasped her forearms and squeezed tightly. Clarke locked eyes with Lexa and saw tears in her eyes. Lexa smiled wider than Clarke has ever seen before. Her eyes were wide and glistening.

And Clarke decided. Tomorrow. After the championship game, she was going to tell her. Win or lose, she was going to tell her. 

 

AN: Abbreviations used  
10u - travel teams are divided by age groups. 10u is 10 and under, 12u is 12 and under, etc.  
RBI - Runs Batted In  
OBP - on base percentage  
D1 - Division 1, the top ranking college and university sports teams. The only teams that are televised or able to award their players with large scholarships. (i.e. Women’s Basketball D1 Champions are UCONN)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa comes home from semi-finals. The championship game happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long. Life has been a bit nuts. There's a bit of abuse in this chapter. I marked the beginning and end of it with "***" so feel free to skip over. Basically Titus is a shitty foster father. Shocker, right?
> 
> ~~minor grammar updates, working on a third chapter~~

After everyone settled down from mobbing Clarke at second base, they practically skipped to the dugout to clean up their gear. The bench buzzed with excitement. Clarke decided to take a moment to ground her thoughts and sat down next to her bag. She opened it and started pulling out old water bottles that had been there since the last time she cleaned out her bag--the day of the kiss.

She smiles softly to herself as she opens bottle after bottle and dumps the water on the ground. The sun feels nice on her face, warming her and allowing her to take a moment to bask in her accomplishments. She closes her eyes. A shadow covers her and the warmth from the sun disappears. She opens her eyes and glances up, a new warmth settling in the pit of her stomach. Lexa.

“Still think hitting singles is dumb?” she says with a smirk.

“That was definitely a double, Woods,” Clarke laughs.

“Please,” Lexa says. “You went on the throw. Just ask Slink.” She nods behind her to the infield coach who keeps track of the book. Clarke rolls her eyes but the smile doesn’t leave her face. They’re both silent for a moment, their eyes meeting each other’s equally soft gazes. Clarke feels a pressure rising in her chest. The temptation to let it out now is strong. But what if it goes badly? They still have to work together through the championship game. At least if there’s rejection tomorrow, she has two weeks before the travel season starts back up.

As Clarke weighs the pros and cons of speaking her mind now rather than tomorrow, Lexa is oblivious to the thoughts going through the blonde’s mind. She’s lost in absorbing everything that is Clarke Griffin.

Clarke is sitting with her legs spread and knees bent. And as much as Lexa wants to crawl between those legs for other reasons, right now she simply wants to sit down in front of her and feel wrapped up in all her limbs. She wants Clarke to surround her, to encompass her fully. Clarke’s cleats are off and Lexa can see the spots on her socks where they’ve become threadbare. As much as Clarke teases Lexa for her superstitions, she is adamant about which sock goes on which foot. The maroon fabric has worn from so much use and Lexa can see the light skin of Clarke’s toes. For some reason, it’s the most adorable and endearing thing Lexa has ever seen.

She lets her eyes trail up Clarke’s body, passing quickly over places that she feels she has no right glancing at. Her eyes stop once they reach Clarke’s face. There’s a line of dirt across her forehead from where her catcher’s mask rested. Her cheeks are flushed from the adrenaline rush of having the walkoff hit. The look on Clarke’s face sends a shiver down Lexa’s back. Elation. Joy. Relief. And a flash something else, something she can’t quite pinpoint. Uncertainty, maybe? But it doesn’t matter. Her flushed cheeks and dirt-covered face is framed by wild hair that’s falling from a messy bun. And Lexa is sure it’s the most beautiful sight she’s ever seen.

“It was a good hit,” Lexa says finally.

“Wow! Is the ever-stoic Commander giving a compliment?” Clarke chuckles. Lexa rolls her eyes and knocks her cleated foot against Clarke’s bare one.

“Don’t let it go to your head, Clarke. The win doesn’t mean anything until tomorrow.”

Clarke sighs and her grin fades from her face until all that’s left is the hint of a soft smile.

“Enjoy this one, Lexa. You deserve to.”

“I’ll enjoy it if we win tomorrow.” 

“ _When_ we win tomorrow.”

“Sure, Clarke,” she says, dropping Clarke’s gaze. Clarke knows her pitcher won’t allow herself another moment of happiness at the outcome of today’s game. The joy she showed when she met Clarke at second base was more than she’d showed all season. Clarke knew there was more hidden underneath, but it was always masked by the serious facade of a pitcher weighed down with the pressure of a whole team. She knows the girl can feel it with every pitch she throws. And that’s why she’s happy for their partnership. Being Lexa’s catcher gives Clarke the chance to ease some of that pressure. It doesn’t hurt that they make a great team.

Clarke closes her bag and stands up, slipping her feet into sandals and jiggling her keys in her hand.

“Do you want a ride home?” Clarke asks.

“Oh, uh, no thank you. I’ve gotta get to work.”

“I can give you a ride there instead if you want." 

“It’s not that far of a walk.”

Clarke shrugs. “I’ll see you tomorrow in history then,” she says as she turns and heads towards her car, waving a hand over her shoulder.

Lexa lets out a sigh reminiscent of the one when she watched Clarke drive away those months ago. She occupies herself with organizing her bag to appear busy until she hears the truck drive away. She calls out a goodbye to the rest of the team and swings her bag over her shoulder.

She’d lied to Clarke. She didn’t have to go to work. She’d already worked close to forty hours this week and they wouldn’t let her get overtime no matter how much she needed the money. No, she was going home for the night. And home was a good two mile walk away. But the thought of Clarke going anywhere near there wasn’t something that Lexa could even consider.

No one knew anything about her home life and she needed to keep it that way. They knew of her brother, Aden. Clarke knew Aden personally. But that was as close as Lexa would let anyone get. Lexa had learned to dodge questions and avoid revealing personal information fairly quickly after entering the system when she was 11. She discovered that it wasn’t that hard. People like talking about themselves so if she just makes sure to keep the focus on them, they don’t notice her silence.

Telling people where she lived would automatically bring up questions. It’s the rattiest part of their small town, the where “white trash” live. She’s not the only one in her school that lives there. But there’s an unspoken agreement among the kids of that neighborhood. They don’t out each other. They keep their heads down, use their reduced lunch tickets, and live their lives. Some of them frequent the principal’s office but there are some who get through school unnoticed.

A good portion of them are in the system or will find themselves there sooner or later. That kind of similarity creates a silent bond. If other people knew that she was in the system, they would ask her about how she came to be there. And she would have to tell the story--the story that haunts her nightmares five years later. She can’t do that because anytime she tries to talk about it, even objectively, she crumples to a heap and can’t help the sobs that wrench from her throat. Then everyone would see her as weak.

So she stays silent. And she gets ignored by everyone but the softball players and the teachers. That’s fine by her, though.

The walk is long but it feels nice to walk slowly and stretch her muscles after a long game. She debates stopping for a bag of ice for her shoulder. It’s starting to flare up slightly and that’s the last thing she needs with the most important summer of her life coming up.

As soon as the high school season ends, travel starts up. And they start right off with showcase tournaments where dozens of college scouts will be. Lexa’s already drummed up a bunch of talk with her stats alone. This will be her shot to show them what she can do. This is her shot at going to college.

She’s worked her ass off for the last two years, working under the table whenever she can. Travel team costs aren’t cheap. And every cent she earns goes toward paying for the cost of holding a spot on the roster and travel expenses for tournaments. Sometimes she wonders if it’s a waste to be throwing all of her money into softball. She thinks it’s might be smarter to save all of the money for paying for college. But every time she does the math, she realizes that she’ll never be able to afford to pay for a degree this way. She needs a scholarship to take the bulk of the cost. And while her grades are good, her talent on the mound is better. And if she’s smart about the recruiting process, she might be able to pull off a decent scholarship.

She shakes off the desire to buy ice. She’ll get home and maybe there will be some in the freezer if she’s lucky. And if she’s really unlucky, she’s just going to need more ice later tonight anyway.

Forty minutes later she finds herself turning onto her street. She eyes her front yard, trying to determine the atmosphere she’ll find when she walks inside the house. Aden’s bike is lying carelessly on the grass. The blinds to the house are drawn and everything is quiet. Lexa sighs and picks up Aden’s bike, walking it over to leave it leaning against the side of the house.

As she’s resting the bike against the cracked paneling, she hears a muffled shout from inside the house. She lets the bike clatter to the ground and drops her bat bag on top of it. She takes off towards the front door and in her haste, her foot gets caught up in a strap of the bag. She stumbles and rips her leg free, scrambling as she lurches to the door.

*** 

She throws the door open and sees Aden on his side against a bookshelf. There’s shattered glass and liquid covering the floor around him. A glance up tells her that the stash of liquor that had been housed on the bookshelf rather than books had fallen.

“Look what you did now, boy!” a deep voice rumbles. Their foster father, Titus, is standing a few feet away from the boy on the ground. His face is flushed and Lexa can see the pulse fluttering wildly in his neck. Before Lexa can jump into action, Titus reaches down and pulls Aden up by the collar of his shirt. There’s blood matted in Aden’s hair from the broken glass. He shudders and braces himself for the next blow.

“Get your hands off him,” Lexa says, her voice even despite the shaking that has taken over her entire body. Aden lets out a breath as if relieved by her presence alone. She doesn’t stand a chance physically against Titus. He may be slight, but he has years on her and a demeanor designed for aggression and violence.

“Oh look, your sister is back from dykeball.”

“Don’t call it that,” Aden chokes out between clenched teeth. Lexa holds back a wince because it’s true--she’s a lesbian softball player. Talk about stereotype fulfillment. And even though she hasn’t come out to a single person--except Clarke with that damning kiss--he knows. Or maybe he doesn’t know. It could just be an insult. “Slut” and “whore” and “useless piece of shit” never bothered her. She never could quite control her face enough at hearing the word “dyke” to trick him into believing it didn’t phase her.

“What’s wrong, kid? Ashamed that your sister gets more chicks than you do? Your dick ain’t big enough to please the ladies but hers is! Doesn’t that get to ya?”

Aden closes his eyes tight. Lexa takes a step forward. She knows the overwhelming smell of alcohol isn’t just due to the shattered bottles on the floor.

“Put him down, Titus,” she says calmly. His focus shifts from Aden to her in a flash.

“Or what? You gonna hit me with one of your dyke bats?”

“Maybe I will.”

Titus barks out a laugh. “One day your _devotion_ to this kid is going to get you real hurt, missy. He’s your weakness.” He eases Aden to the ground and makes a show of releasing his shirt from his hand. Aden sucks in a breath as if the hand had been around his throat rather than the fabric of his shirt.

“You wish she loved you like she loves me, you--” Aden shouts, spit flying from his mouth. Lexa cuts him off by shouting his name. He stops short, his eyes going wide as if he hadn’t realized the words had ever left his mind.

“Is that what you think? That she _loves you_?” he growls. He leans into Aden’s face so there isn’t more than an inch separating them. Aden flinches as the spit flies from Titus’s mouth and strikes his face like shrapnel. “You don’t know what love is, boy. Your balls haven’t dropped yet. You’re too much of a baby to know what love is. I’ll show you what it is. I’ll make her love me. And you’ll have to watch.”

Aden’s eyes snap open and his face pales. Lexa swallows. This isn’t the first threat of his attempts at fixing her, controlling her, teaching her. He’s never gone as far as to follow through but the threats are nothing new. She’s heard him go into explicit detail about how he would _teach_ her to love a man. The words alone are enough to send her spiraling into nightmares of what the reality might entail.

“You better clean that mess up,” Titus says without shifting his focus from Lexa.

Aden scrambles into the kitchen and comes back with a broom, dustpan, and roll of paper towels. As soon as he crouches over the broken glass and spilled liquor, Titus reaches out and grabs Lexa’s arm with a firm grip. His fingertips press into her skin. He yanks her arm and she stumbles to the side, stepping on the glass. It crunches beneath her feet and she can feel it wedge into the sole of her sneaker. He steps past her, not letting up on his grip.

As he moves down the hall, he drags her behind him. There’s no use in resisting. Even if she could take him down physically, she knows that the aftermath will only be that much worse. So she goes along without a word or movement of restraint. She glances back over her shoulder and locks eyes with Aden. She gives him a small smile, hoping to reassure him that it’s fine, not to worry. As she was pulled around the corner, she saw the unconvinced and guilty look on his face.

The second her view of him was cut off, she closed her eyes and let her Titus do with her what he wanted. She focused entirely on dissociating with her body. Dissociation always seemed to hit her when she was in the middle of a particularly hard inning. She usually found herself fighting it off with all the energy she could muster. But more and more often, she found herself welcoming it and even hoping it would come whenever she was home. While she could still feel what was happening to her as Titus’s grimy hands dug into her arms and hips, the sensation was muted. It was as if there were a layer of hard plastic between his hands and her skin. Almost as if he was grabbing rubber.

He shoves her hard and she lads on the bed. Her limbs are limp but he is strong enough to maneuver her dead weight. He yanks down her uniform shorts, taking her sliding shorts with them. All that protects her from his hands was a thin layer of cotton. Rather than jump the gun, he shoves his hand roughly up her shirt to palm her breasts roughly. Goosebumps cover her skin at his touch and she shudders. He pulls his hand back to grab both of her arms and pin them above her head.

“Get off!” Aden yells, throwing open the door. Lexa grits her teeth together, knowing that his defiance would only increase Titus’s aggression. Titus’s head snaps up. The look on his face is feral--his teeth bared, his face red with anger.

“Aden, get out of here,” she croaks. Titus spins around to face him, releasing his tight hold on Lexa’s arms. He reaches out to grab Aden but stumbles to a stop when he saw someone thundering into the room behind the boy. It was their neighbor, Jim. He is a man in his seventies with a surprising amount of strength for his age. He grabs Aden and moves him to the side.

Lexa takes advantage of Titus’s temporary surprise. Despite the lead feeling in her body from trying to distance herself from the way he touched her, she is able to move quickly. She pushes herself up from the bed and propels herself at his back. The shorts lowered around her legs causes her movements to be jerky and unbalanced but it does the trick. She hits him hard and he grunts as he loses his balance. They both tumble to the floor.

Aden and Jim are by their side in a heartbeat, Jim urging Lexa off the assailant. Aden grabs her and rolls her off of him. Jim jams his knee into Titus’s back and lowers all of his weight down. He grabs Titus’s arms and twists them behind his back. Titus shouts in pain. Jim just grunts and tightens his hold on the struggling man beneath him.

“Call the cops,” he says, jerking his head to the kids. Neither of them move for a moment. Aden’s eyes are wide and focused on Lexa’s face. Her eyes are closed and she’s breathing heavily in and out of her nose.

“They’ll take us away…” she whispers. She looks down at her uniform, thinking of the championship game happening the next day.

“Good,” he says quietly. “Go! Now!” 

Lexa doesn’t move, still debating whether it’s necessary. Nothing really happened. They stopped it in time. And the game tomorrow--that game could decide her future entirely.

***

Jim doesn’t move from Titus’s back until the police arrive a good forty-five minutes later. Lexa and Aden wait with him in the bedroom. Titus groans and jerks occasionally in a half-hearted attempt to get free. Jim just tightens his grip every time there’s even the slightest movement. He instructs them to tell him what happened before Aden got him. The question is directed at Lexa but she’s struggling to keep her focus on breathing and cannot find the words. Aden does the talking. His sentences are fragmented, confusion and fear evident in the trembling of his voice.

When the doorbell rings, Aden is the first one to reach the door. Lexa is frozen in place, her shorts still lowered around her thighs and her gaze focused on the wall across the room. As soon as she hears the voices she snaps out of it and goes rushing over as soon as she hears the voices. She hasn’t changed or showered, or even fixed her hair. Jim wanted the police to see signs of the assault. She ushers Aden out of the way and leads the police into Titus’s bedroom. Jim takes over from there, explaining what had happened. He prompts the kids to fill in the blanks, but again Lexa is unable to answer. Aden takes over, his voice shaking that much more in the face of authority. Neither of them have any faith in the police or anyone that is supposed to keep them safe. Too many times they’ve had to talk to the police only to have them accused of “crying wolf.”

Jim made certain that they took the kids seriously this time. He knew that they’d settled in this town and were reluctant to make any waves that would warrant changing homes again. But the abuse couldn’t continue.

After a few hours of adults talking in low, grumbling voices and more cars lining up along the streets, Lexa and Aden were ushered into a car. They didn’t have much to pack. They each had a small duffle bag of clothes, ratty backpacks for school, and Lexa had her softball equipment.

She is told to change before leaving when one of the officers told her that the uniform needed to be returned to the high school softball coach. Lexa begs for information regarding where they were being taken but the driver doesn’t say anything other than, “We’ll be there in an hour.” Even after thirty minutes passes and Aden asks how much longer, he answers with a gruff “hour” before going silent once more.

Lexa asks if she was going to be able to play in the championship game the next day. Her question remains unanswered. So she changes tactics and asks if she could please call her coach, to which she receives a firm shake of the head in response.

Aden falls asleep and his head droops against Lexa’s arm. She sighs and takes a softball out of her bag. She looks out the window and toys with the stitches on the ball. It’s definitely more than an hour before the get off the highway and wind through the grid-like streets of a small city.

When they pull up to a bland house and the driver stops the car, Lexa nudges Aden with her shoulder. He blinks up at the house and sighs. The driver gets out of the car.

“Come on, A. We’ll be okay,” Lexa says, storing the softball back in her bag and gathering her things. The driver taps the window, making Aden startle. The siblings open their doors and get out, dragging their belongings with them.

“This is just a temporary home. Since it’s been such short notice, we’ll need some time finding more permanent arrangements for you,” the man says. His tone tells Lexa all she needs to know--that he’d rather be doing anything but this, that this is just a job to him and he doesn’t give a shit, that he sees them just another damaged and delinquent pair of sheep that he has to herd from house to house.

He leads them up to the front door and knocks firmly. A woman with greying hair opens the door and steps aside to let them in. Lexa sizes her up. She has a warm smile on her face but that doesn’t do much to reassure her that this place will be any better than the last several, no matter how short their time here will be. Aden shuffles inside and stops just inside the door, rocking on his feet awkwardly.

Papers are signed. Formalities are completed. Soon the driver leaves. Lexa and Aden have barely stepped inside the house beyond the front hall.

“I’m so sorry this happened on such short notice, kids,” the woman says as she approaches them. She moves slowly as if they’re dogs and she doesn’t want to startle them. Maybe they’re not much different. They are strays and they constantly watch body language to determine if their environments are safe. Aden is the first to relax. Lexa’s shoulder stay tense and her knuckles white from her hold on her bags.

“We’re sorry to be a burden,” Lexa says.

“Oh, not at all.” They stand and stare at each other for a long moment. “Let me show you to your room. I’m terribly sorry but you’ll have to share a room. At least for tonight.”

“That’s okay! We’ve always shared a room,” Aden says. The woman smiles and motions for them to follow her up the stairs.

She gets them settled in without saying much else. She brings them each a towel, washcloth, and new toothbrush. She tells Lexa that there’s feminine hygiene products underneath the sink, to which Aden gags in response. Lexa swats his arm gently but her lips twitch into a small smile.  The woman, who tells them her name is Genesis--“her parents were serious hippies”--leaves them alone to unwind.  

Lexa sits on the edge of her twin bed with her head in her hands.

“This isn’t so bad, Lexa,” Aden says as he sits down next to her. She gives a soft grunt in response. “Seriously, it’s better than being with Titus.”

“We won today, Aden. We made it into the championship.”

“Wow! That’s so awesome, Lexa! I knew you could do it!”

“That’s the thing--I can’t. Not from here. Yes, we’re safe here. But I may have just lost our best chance at a better future.”

“What?” His mouths opens in confusion.

“We’re in a different school district now. I can’t play for our school anymore.”

His jaw snaps shut.

“Can you go talk to Genesis?”

Lexa nods and stands up. She ruffles Aden’s hair and leaves the room to find their new temporary foster mom. She finds her sitting in the kitchen, making a cup of tea.

“Would you like a cup of tea? I have chamomile. It might help you sleep after the day you’ve had.”

Lexa nod and eases into a chair at the small table in the center of the room. She looks at her nails and sees that they all have a thick collection of reddish dirt underneath them. She picks at them, wiping the last remnants of the day’s game on her pants. Genesis sets a mug down in front of her and Lexa shifts her focus to the steam that rises from the orangey liquid.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Did they take us out of our schools?” Lexa asks without looking up.

“Yes, you’ll be starting at the school district for this town tomorrow. I’m sorry you have to bounce around so much. You’ll be here until at least the end of the school year so you’ll most likely start the next school year at a different school. What year are you?”

“Junior,” Lexa says. “So does that mean I can’t play in our softball game tomorrow?”

“Oh! You play softball? That’s a wonderful sport.”

“Yes, I’m a pitcher,” her chest puffs with pride. She lifts her gaze to make eye contact with Genesis, feeling more confidence at the mention of the game.

“You must be quite good to play such a challenging position!”

Lexa shrugs.

“I’m afraid that as of tomorrow morning you’ll no longer be enrolled in that school.”

“So I’m not eligible to play in the championship game?”

Genesis’s face stretches into a look of surprise upon hearing the word “championship” and she reaches out to grasp Lexa’s hand. Lexa flinches at the contact but allows her hand to relax slightly. She doesn’t want to make Genesis think she’s afraid of her. But her reaction to physical contact of any kind--even from Aden--is to snatch her hand away. And Titus’s attack just hours earlier has left a slimy feeling on her skin.

“I’m so sorry, dear.”

Lexa sighs and drops her head. She doesn’t pull her hand away despite the way every inch of her skin being touched by Genesis tingles with the desire to recoil. She closes her eyes tightly to hold back the tears that she feels approaching. Once she’s gotten ahold of her emotions, she takes a deep breath and stands. The chair squeaks against the linoleum floor. She pulls her hand back, the movement a bit too forceful to go unnoticed.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Genesis. Would it be alright if I took a shower?” she asks, keeping her eyes averted from the older woman.

“Of course, dear.”

Lexa turns and heads back up the stairs. She walks past their bedroom, not bothering to say a word to Aden and closes herself in the bathroom. She sees that the lock has been disabled as soon as she goes to engage it. She huffs and strips off her clothes before stepping into the shower without bothering to heat the water up first. She turns on the faucet and is slapped with a stream of icy cold water. It knocks her out of the daze she’s been in since leaving the field that afternoon.

No championship game. Her team would have to play without her. And she wasn’t sure she would have the chance to tell them. Even if she could, they wouldn’t understand. No one knew that she was in the system. She would never see them after this. Not even during the travel season. She’d spent all her savings on the cost to play for the Washington Tigers, leaving her with a scraping of money that was just enough to get Aden a new pair of jeans for his birthday last month. Now she had no way of getting to the practices or games. She had no way of getting to her two jobs which meant there was no chance of making enough money to sign up for a new team in time.

She runs through her options as she lathers her body with soap. There’s still a chance at getting a scholarship even if she didn’t play in the championship game tomorrow. If she played on an elite travel team, like the one she was signed up for, she still had a chance at gathering the attention of college scouts. But there was the distance issue. They’re over an hour out of town now. And even if she could make travel arrangements with her coach or someone, she’d have to compensate them somehow. And she was out of both her jobs because of the same issue--distance.

She could try to find another team with an open pitching spot. But that was rare. Teams sorted out their rosters ten months in advance, even longer for pitchers. And even if she could find one, she didn’t have the cash to pay for a spot. Then again, she could try to find a couple of jobs but she still only had two weeks and that wasn’t enough time to make enough money to play for an elite team.

She sighs and steps back under the freezing water to rinse off. This time the crisp water forces another thought into her mind--Clarke.

Clarke was going to be expecting to see her the next morning in History. They were supposed to sit together like they did every B Day and talk about the upcoming game, going over their own scouting reports of the batters. It’s their time to develop pitching strategies without their annoying coaches forcing their opinions in the conversation.

But not only would she be missing History, she would also be missing the game. And Clarke would have no warning. She would have no explanation.

And they’d had a moment today after the win, right? When Clarke offered to drive her home, that was… _something_ , wasn’t it? The way the blonde had smiled at her had meant something, something different than it normally did. A chill shoots down Lexa’s spine as she remembers the look on Clarke’s face when she’d smiled after having the game-winning hit. She slides to the floor of the tub and reaches out to turn the water warmer, unable to take the chill anymore.

Whatever may have been in that smile was certainly never to be again. Whatever chance there was… Well, it was gone now.

* * *

The next morning during second period, Clarke gets to class before Lexa. It’s strange. Lexa always arrives before anyone else. No matter how many times Clarke tried to get a hall pass at the end of the previous class in order to beat Lexa, she never won. Lexa was always there waiting with her books stored in her desk and her notebook open to her notes on the upcoming batters they would face together.

But not today. Today, Lexa’s desk is completely empty. There are no books, no notebook, no scouting report, and no Lexa.

Clarke furrows her eyebrows and moves to take her seat. Every time someone walks into the classroom, her head snaps up to look for brown hair and green eyes. Each time it’s not her, her heart falls.

Two minutes before the bell rings Anya walks in. Thinking that Anya is the closest to Lexa out of anyone on the team, Clarke calls her over.

“Have you talked to Lexa today?”

“No, she wasn’t in Pre-Calc this morning.” Anya says, but doesn’t elaborate. Clarke wonders if there’s something she isn’t saying.

“Do you think she’s just coming in late? She never misses class.”

 Anya shrugs.

“Yeah, she probably went to get her shoulder checked out,” Clarke says. She forces out a chuckle that sounds more like a wheeze. “You know how she is when a big game is approaching. Doesn’t want to take any chances.”

Anya raises an eyebrow and nods slowly. 

“You’d be the one to know. You’re the one that shares a brain with her,” Monroe says from a row back.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well it must be something like that. No one’s ever seen a pitcher-catcher duo work the way you two do. We all decided that you must share a brain or something.” Monroe shrugs. Her lips turn up into a smirk. “Either that or you’re fucking. No one can tell.”

Clarke splutters.

“Nah, they’re not fucking,” Anya says but the look on her face says she believes otherwise. Monroe bursts out into laughter and Anya barks out a loud laugh.

Heat rushes to Clarke’s cheeks and she wonders if her thoughts after the game yesterday were more transparent than she thought.

“You guys are dicks.” 

With that the bell rings and she hurries back to her seat, not realizing she’d never gotten an answer from Anya until she sees the empty desk again.  

She spends the whole class glancing between the empty chair, her textbook, the clock, and the door.

When she gets to the locker room at the end of the day, she still hasn’t seen any sign of Lexa. Missing school means you’re not allowed to play in the game. But they’re all willing to lie for the sake of their star pitcher. Clarke pulls out her uniform and takes a moment to stare at the number 7 on the back. She traces it with her finger once. Then she lifts her hand doing it again but continuing it so that the number she sees in front of her is a 2. She swallows hard then stands with a sigh. She gets dressed robotically, oblivious to the excitement vibrating in the air of the locker room. Her thoughts are stuck on the green-eyed pitcher.  

Before she leaves the locker room, she reaches into her enormous bag and pulls out a black tube. She situates herself in front of the mirror and slowly goes about applying eyeblack. Rather than a straight line across her cheekbones or the lazy smear down her cheeks, she takes her time. Her stomach flutters with butterflies and her hand shakes. She anticipates how Lexa is going to react when she sees that Clarke has replicated her own eyeblack off the pitcher’s usual style. Once she decides it’s right, she takes a step back and studies her face. The eyeblack makes her look fierce but doesn’t have the same effect that it has on Lexa. Nothing about Clarke’s appearance can even come close to comparing to Lexa. She has an ethereal and majestic beauty about her that is unrivaled by any living creature. Clarke knows she’s pretty, knows she can be sexy. But she doesn’t see how anything can come close to all that is Lexa Woods.

She gives herself a glare in the mirror, testing out her game face. It’s intimidating enough. She smiles at the thought of Lexa and her facing each other, looking like mirror reflections of each other with their eyeblack. The smile cuts the intimidation that’s added to her features from the eyeblack. But she’s too wrapped up in the fantasy of seduction to care.

“Let’s go, Griff! We got a trophy to win!” Octavia pats her hard on the back as she walks out, her cleats clicking rhythmically against the tile floors.  

When she gets to the field, Lexa still isn’t there. The team mutters amongst themselves as they set out their bats and helmets. No one utters a word to Clarke. They stretch and do their sprints. But this time there’s one voice missing in the group of captains that leads the warm ups. When Coach gets there, they’re all in pairs and warming up their arms. He calls Clarke and Harper over and unwraps a brand new game ball before holding it out to Harper.

“You’re gettin’ the start today, kiddo. Go get ‘em. Clarke warm her up.”

Harper nods and walks towards the edge of the dugout fence. Coach moves to walk over to the rest of the team but is stopped when Clarke grabs his arm.

“What’s going on?”

“Warm ups, Griffin. Just like every single day for the last three years.”

She rolls her eyes. “No, why’s Harper pitching? Where’s Lexa?”

“Lexa isn’t here.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Where is she?”

“She’s not playing. You’ve got yourself a pitcher. Now focus on the game and get your job done,” his voice is firm, leaving no room for arguments or questions. She stares him down for a moment, trying to find a way to get some answers. He swallows hard. For a second, Clarke wonders if the eyeblack is working. Then his jaw tightens and he lowers his chin to peer at her over his sunglasses. Clarke bites her tongue and goes to get her gear on.

Her mind wanders endlessly while she warms up Harper. None of it makes sense. No one will say anything about where Lexa is. The worry that’s been sitting heavy in Clarke’s chest all day dissipates the more she thinks. Maybe the reason no one is talking about it is because there’s nothing to talk about. Maybe she’s just gone.

She could have at least waited until after the championship game. Her absence shifts from one that stirs Clarke’s blood with concern and hardens to give the catcher a feeling of anger and betrayal.

A pitch comes in with a great curve on it. Clarke swallows her tumultuous emotions and fires the ball back to Harper, testing out her own arm. Harper shakes her glove after catching it, tossing a glare at Clarke. She shrugs. She feels good. Ready to gun out any runner that has even the smallest hope at running.

She concentrates on shifting her focus to the pitcher in front of her. The girl’s pitching is good but nowhere near the level that they need to win this game. She thinks they can pull it off if their offense gets an early start and stays steady throughout the game. If they can get ahead and hold the lead, they’ll be fine. But she knows there isn’t a shot at a win like the day before.

* * *

They lose. And it’s neither pretty nor close. By the time the seventh inning rolled around, they were down 7-2. They’d gotten the lead 1-0 in the first inning. But then the other team jumped up 4-1 and they were chasing for the rest of the game.

With each inning that passed, Clarke’s anger bubbled until it was boiling over. She didn’t bother with the effort to keep her eyeblack perfect. She rubbed her face and smeared it all over herself, too hot and pissed off to care what it looked like. Octavia kept having to pull her aside to wipe down some of the more dramatic smears and talk her down. Clarke didn’t hear a word the other girl said. She’d created a cement wall around her once they lost the lead in the bottom of the second.

Each time a runner got on base, she would catch her gaze drifting to the parking lot, hoping against hope that she would see Lexa walking up with her usual confident stride.

But the pitcher never shows. She’s over 50 miles away, pitching rocks against a tree. She works through 21 batters, imagining herself winning the championship with a perfect game. She pictures Clarke tackling her on the mound after she strikes out the last batter of the game. She sees her and Clarke both kissing the trophy that they won together. She can almost picture them kissing without the trophy between them, kissing not because they won together but rather just because they are together.  

Aden watches from around the corner of the house, flinching every time he hears a rock hit the tree. He wonders if he shouldn’t have gotten Jim involved. If he should have held off one more day. If he could have not provoked Titus so Lexa wouldn’t have gotten in the middle of it. He runs through every possible thing he could have done differently, hanging his head in guilt.

Lexa slides against the tree, giving herself into needing its firm strength and wishing she instead had Clarke’s strong and steady body to rest herself against. She picks up a stick and uses it to draw in the dirt. With a shaky hand she writes out “2 + 7” before trapping them both in a heart. After a moment she uses the stick to scratch it out so the 7 is the only legible part left.

Clarke keeps her head down as she brings equipment to Coach’s truck. They’re going to meet the next day to talk about the end of the season party. No one is in much of a celebration mood at the moment. As she hoists the bucket of balls up to put in the truck bed, a piece of red fabric catches her eye. She tosses the bucket in and moves to where she can reach the fabric. She pulls it towards her and opens it up.

It’s one of their team jerseys. The back has the number 2 on it. Lexa. There’s still dirt on it from having just been worn the day before. Clarke feels tempted to hold it up to her nose. Her heart longs for a reminder of the pitcher who became part of her without her realizing it.

“Hey, good game, Griffin. It was a tough loss.” Octavia says, tossing the helmet back in the truck bed. Her voice snaps Clarke out of her reverie. She turns and feels the anger come back with a vengeance. Octavia’s eyes drift to the uniform Clarke is holding. “Is that--?”

Clarke nods. Octavia scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“Whatever,” she says and turns on her heel. Clarke doesn’t move. She just watches her friend get into her car and peel out of her parking spot. Once Octavia is gone, she looks down at the jersey again.

“Whatever,” Clarke echos and throws it back into the truck and walks away without another glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr @thesunshineearp!

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I don't know how much you guys might know about softball. I apologize is this is redundant and annoying but I want to be safe. Here are the abbreviations used:
> 
> 10u - travel teams are divided by age groups. 10u is 10 and under, 12u is 12 and under, etc.  
> RBI - Runs Batted In  
> OBP - on base percentage  
> D1 - Division 1, the top ranking college and university sports teams. The only teams that are televised or able to award their players with large scholarships. (i.e. Women’s Basketball D1 Champions are UCONN)


End file.
